Through the Years
by Toris-96
Summary: A few shots of France and England and how their love for each other developed in time, from the beginning to the present day. (FrUK)(Rated T for violence and war themes).
1. Through The Forest

When Francis arrived from across the channel, it had been raining, but now the water droplets remained on the soggy ground, glistening in the sun. He wandered through the unfamiliar forest, looking up at the trees that shined in the sunlight as he hummed to himself, happy that he had decided to come and explore.

The forest broke and revealed a bright meadow. In the distance, Francis could see more trees that were filled with bright, green leaves. The young nation smiled, he loved everything beautiful, and this forest was just that. He couldn't imagine how it could get any better than this.

The spring wind blew his long hair back as he skipped across the clearing, without a care in the world. He was almost to the trees on the other side when he heard a small voice.

"Don't step on me!"

Francis stopped in his tracks and looked down. At his feet, was a small boy, who must have been no older than five. The boy lied on his stomach with a green cloak covering him, and scowled at the young French nation with leafy green eyes as his unruly, golden locks blew back in the wind.

"Oh, my, I didn't see you there, little one." Francis replied in a friendly tone.

The boy's thick eyebrows drew together, "I am not little!" He declared.

Francis smiled, the boy was just too cute, "Of course, I'm sorry."

The little boy huffed in reply, and when he didn't say anything else, Francis tried again to be nice, "What is your name?"

"England." He said, plucking damp grass from the dirt, "But people usually call me 'Arthur'."

Francis tilted his head, "You're a country?" It had never crossed his mind that this little boy might have been a nation.

Arthur nodded, "Well, that's what Scotland tells me."

"Oh, well, I'm Francis, the country of France." He said, beaming another smile.

"Your name sounds like you country's name." Arthur observed.

Francis sighed, he actually got this more often than not, "Oui, I know."

There was a long silence, nothing but the grass brushing in the wind making sound. Francis looked to his surroundings and found no one else in sight. His eyes fell back to the younger nation, "Why are you alone? A little boy like you shouldn't be alone."

Arthur sat up in the grass and glared at him, "I am not little! And I wasn't alone! Not until you decided to be stupid!"

"Stupid?" The French nation echoed, "How am I stupid?"

Arthur scoffed, "I was having a good talk with Whiskers and Pixie, then you scared them away!"

Francis suddenly felt guilty, "I'm sorry! Maybe I can help you look for them?"

The toddler stood up, "Pixie can take care of herself. It's Whiskers I worry about, she is only a bunny, and she gets chased by other animals a lot."

"But maybe I-"

Arthur began to walk off, "And I don't need your help! I know where her hole is, she's probably there."

Despite what the English nation said, Francis followed. The little boy trotted through the trees, glancing back now and then, seemingly not minding that Francis was just a few steps behind him. The trees were a bit thicker in this part of the forest, so there were more shadows. This made Francis a little weary, but since Arthur seemed so casual, Francis forced himself to relax.

Eventually, Arthur slowed down and walked up to a tree. He knelt down at the trunk's base and leaned over a small hole, "Whiskers? It's okay, you can come out!" When nothing happened, Arthur reached down into the rabbit hole with is right hand.

Francis sat down by the tree next to Arthur, "She doesn't have to come out if she doesn't want to."

But, just as Francis was finishing his sentence, Arthur pulled the scared rabbit out by the scruff. He turned around, sat against the tree, put the bunny in his lap and began to stroke her, "It's okay, Whiskers, Francis is nice. He won't be mean to you, not like Ireland was."

Whiskers relaxed in the boy's lap at the soothing tone, and both of them seemed content. Francis fidgeted, not really liking the cold, wet grass on his rear, "Can I pet her?" When Arthur nodded, Francis reached out and ran his fingers through the creature's fur, "She's so soft!" He commented.

Arthur smiled, reached into a small pocket, and took out a handful of scrapped vegetables. He took half of what he had and held it out to Francis, "Here."

"What is this for?" Francis asked, taking the food.

"To feed her." The English nation answered and he held out his hand in front of the bunny, who began eating quickly, "See? You just do this, and she nibbles it _all_ up!"

After Whiskers was finished, Francis held out his vegetables. The creature sniffed the French nation's hand before she began to eat. As she did, her whiskers brushed up against his hand, making him giggle, "She is tickling me!"

Whiskers, again, finished, and was now sitting contently, half asleep in Arthur's arms. The two young nations sat in silence, petting the rabbit, until another voice ripped through the air,

"ARTHUR!?"

Arthur jumped to his feet, causing Francis to stand in alarm as well, "That's Scotland!" The boy exclaimed.

Francis tilted his head, "Has he been looking for you?"

Arthur looked panicked, "I've been hiding from him! I don't want him to find me! I don't want to go home!"

"Why not?"

The English nation looked back down to the bunny in his arms with tears in his eyes, "My brothers are mean, they say mean things. Do you know what Ireland said? He said that I was worthless, and that he hated me."

"I'm sure he didn't mean it." Francis tried to reassure him.

"ARTHUR! WHERE ARE YE?"

Arthur looked at Francis with pleading eyes, "Please, don't let him find me."

Francis thought about hiding or running with Arthur, but something didn't seem right, "He sounds worried."

"I don't want to go home." Arthur repeated, petting Whiskers nervously.

"I KNOW YE'RE AROUND 'ERE! YE DUMB RABBIT LIVES HERE!"

"He called her 'dumb'," The boy whispered, "She's not dumb, she's just a bunny."

"There ye are."

Francis turned to see a redheaded older teenager walking up with a tired expression, "C'mon, laddie, let's go home."

"I don't want to!" Arthur protested, tears streaming down his face.

The young Scotsman sighed, "Listen, Arthur. Patrick didn't mean what he said, he's just angry."

Arthur hugged his rabbit tighter, making her squeak in alarm. After whispering an apology to her, Arthur turned back to his brother, "I didn't even do anything!"

Scotland was now standing in front of them, towering over them, "Ssh, listen, ye ran off, and the three of us talked, and we are going to be much nicer to you."

The tears stopped falling, and now the little nation reduced to sniffling, "Promise?"

Scotland looked a bit guilty, "Uh, I and Dylan promised. Patrick didn't, but if he's too mean to ye, then I'll be mean to him. Alright?" The Scot held out his hand to his little brother, "How about we go home? I'll even let Whiskers join us."

Arthur said nothing, but eventually, he nodded at took his brother's hand. Scotland smiled, "Alright, say 'goodbye' to your friend."

"Goodbye, Francis."

"Fran-" The young Scot did a double take before glaring at the French nation, "France? Grandson of Rome?"

Francis took an uneasy step back, "Uh, oui."

The teen narrowed his eyes, "I would limit my visits here if I were ye, we aren't too fond of Rome after our mum's death, got it?"

Francis nodded quickly, "Oui, oui, I understand."

Scotland looked at France up and down judgingly before turning, "Come, Arthur."

Francis stood by himself as he watched the two brothers disappear in the trees. After they were gone, he smiled, the younger nation was just too cute. As he left the forest and headed home, he thought that, maybe, he and Arthur could become great friends.

 _Francis had no idea what he was in for._


	2. Hate

" _Oh, Mon Cher, if things go wrong, promise me never to hate. Always spread love and warmth wherever you go, for seeing your face twisted in anger pains me. Seeing you smile and making others happy, even when you are not, will keep me at peace."_

Those were the last words he heard from Jeanne before she was taken away. She represented hope, and now she was gone, so Francis was hopeless.

The steak still stood tall, but the courtyard was empty from the earlier events. The only thing left was Francis, who laid on the cold stone, still crying. It was a windless, cloudless night, the stars twinkled in the sky, and Francis wondered how the night could be so beautiful after what had just happened.

Francis propped himself on his elbows, telling himself he had to get up and that he had spent enough time drowning in self-pity. He took a quivering breath to calm his nerves when he heard the last voice he wanted to hear.

"France."

Rage washed over him and tears ran down his face again. He stood quickly, drew his sword and swung, only to stop a centimeter from the teenager's neck, "How dare you even speak to me, you worthless devil!"

The English nation stood straight, unarmed, with a fearful look on his face. England closed his eyes, and after seemingly getting over the fear, his expression turned sad, and he spoke calmly, "I am not evil or worthless, France, I-"

Francis didn't want to hear it, so he raised his voice over his enemy's, "Fine! You're not worthless! But you are evil! Your sole purpose in life is to cause me pain! I hate you!"

England shook his head quickly, his green eyes full of emotion, "You don't mean that." Although it was a statement, it sounded like a desperate plea.

The anger kept building up, and Francis screamed back, "Yes, I do! Do you even know what you have done? I LOVED HER!"

England yelled back, fearless of the blade at his neck, "You think I don't know how you feel? You're not the only one who has fallen for a human!" The teen's eyes began to shine with tears, "I loved and served God, and he struck down the one I loved with the plague!"

Francis couldn't shout anymore, his throat was too tired from the crying earlier, but he did snap back at the evil nation, his voice turning cold, "You deserved it, no, you deserve worse! You deserve to burn!"

Tears streamed down the young nation's face, "I already have. My own king set me aflame."

Francis could remember his grandfather telling him how humans sometimes thought that nations were evil due to the long life that they had. But, times had changed since the time of Rome, and now, things like that were now unheard of as the personifications were highly respected now. So, Francis couldn't help but look at England quizzically, "Quoi?"

England's sight dropped to the ground, "Let's just say I don't use magic anymore."

Francis looked at him up and down. All the tiredness, sadness, regret and pain… The long war was tearing the teen apart… England wasn't evil... In fact, he wasn't even the one to take the blame for Jeanne, his king and government were. Sure, England could voice his opinion, yell, scream, and threaten his king all he wanted, but no matter what he said, orders were orders, and he had to follow them, it was just instinct. Every nation could relate to having to do something that they didn't believe in, it happened more often than not.

Francis' anger turned to guilt, and he lowered his sword, "I'm sorry for what I said." He apologized, looking at the ground.

"It's alright," England responded quickly, "You have every right to be mad."

Francis' mind began to spin, jumping to one thing to another too fast to actually think. After a painfully long silence, he decided that he should go back home. His boss was probably worrying about him. So he walked past the teen without a word. A few steps away, Jeanne's words came back into his mind, so he stopped and tuned back around.

"Arthur?"

The young Englishman had been walking away, but he halted in his tracks without looking back, "Yes?"

Francis paused for a moment, then spoke kindly, "I don't hate you."

If Arthur hadn't tensed, Francis would have thought that the younger nation didn't hear him. But eventually, Arthur looked at the ground, his shoulders sloping, "Yes you do, everyone does."

Francis didn't know why, but the statement broke him, and when Arthur began to walk away, he found himself running after the young nation and grabbed his arm to get his attention.

Arthur turned around and pulled his arm away, but before he could say anything, Francis interrupted him, "It wasn't a lie, Arthur, I don't hate you."

Arthur's sorrowful look turned to anger, "Don't call me Arthur! And don't spare my feelings!"

Francis shook his head, "I wasn't sparing your feelings, Angleterre."

England scoffed, "Please, if my own brothers hate me-"

"Your brothers don't hate you," Francis tried to reassure, "The last time I saw Scotland, he threatened me not to hurt you."

The young nation rolled his eyes, "Alright, assuming you're telling the truth, did he keep his word when you shoved a sword through my chest in battle a few years ago?"

"Well…"

England's eyes dropped to the ground, "That's what I thought." After a long pause, he looked back to Francis, "And you do hate me, you just said so."

Francis shook his head, "I said I was sorry for that, and-"

England interrupted, his voice raising, "How could you not? I have done horrible things to you in the wars we've fought! My people just burned the woman you loved!"

Francis nodded, "Oui, your _people_ burned her. Not _you_. You did not burn her. You're not to blame."

"Yes, I am!" The teen argued, "We are countries! We _are_ our people! There's no difference."

Francis spoke calmly, "Well, I don't blame you, and I don't hate you."

"Why did I even come here? All you do is play games with me!" England huffed as he turned on his heels.

Francis sighed and let the young Englishman go, knowing it was impossible to get through to him, so Francis began to head home.

It was then when he realized that he could never hate England, no matter what happened. Truthfully, he wished things were different, if they were, maybe the two of them could get along, perhaps even be close friends. They could spend so much time together, talking and laughing. After all, Arthur did have a great smile, and a beautiful laugh…

Although that last thought seemed strange, Francis let his mind ponder about it. He realized that he did want Arthur close to him, to walk down the path of life with him. Just so he could hold his hand and make him smile and laugh…

Francis narrowed his eyebrows and shook the thought out of his head.

 _War and grief is getting to my head._

He actually thought what it would be like to spend the rest of his life with Arthur, just like humans do when they fall in love…

 _Are delusions a symptom if the black plague? Maybe I caught it from someone…_

* * *

Arthur leaned forward on his horse with a sigh as he watched his camp finish packing everything up. The sun was beginning to rise, promising a new day, but Arthur wouldn't believe in it. Everything had been ruined.

He had already cried all he could in the past days, but now he just didn't know what to do anymore. Perhaps go back to the blood thirsty pirate that he had been before settling in the Thirteen Colonies and adopting Quebec.

 _Well, no one is really going to call him the Thirteen Colonies anymore, are they?_

Arthur sighed again as if it would take away the sorrow.

"Everything is ready, Sir, shall we go?"

He turned to Quebec, who was on his own horse with the usual apathetic look. Arthur tried to speak in a friendly tone, "Make sure to double-check, Matthew, I don't want to leave anything behind."

Matthew nodded, "I did, Sir. Perhaps we should leave."

Arthur sat up on his horse and took the reins in his hands as he scanned the camp, "Yes, we-" He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw France in the trees. When the two made eye-contact, France walked off.

"Wait here." Arthur said, getting off the horse.

Matthew looked down his nose at him "Something wrong?"

"I thought I saw something."

Quebec rolled his eyes and replied in the usual cold tone, "Is it important? Because we need to get to the Ohio River Valley soon if you don't want _America_ to kick us out."

Arthur didn't respond to Matthew, but instead ran off into the forest, only to stop when he saw France standing by a tree. Arthur took a few more steps closer, "You want to tell me why the hell you're here?"

France offered a kind smile, "I just wanted to see how you are doing."

Arthur could not recall a time he had been this angry at someone. If France hadn't helped America, the British would have won the war. He spoke through his teeth to keep himself from shouting at the frog, "Horrible. Thanks to you."

France's expression turned guilty, it seems like the frog was here to play more mind games. "I'm sorry, mon ami, but-"

"I am not your friend!" Arthur shouted, "You ruined my life!"

France looked offended, "I did not declare war and side with your colonies! My king did! I wanted no part of it!"

It didn't sound like a lie, but Arthur knew it to be, so he scoffed at the statement, "So what was it? Revenge?"

France calmed his voice, "My _people_ wanted that, not me."

Arthur wouldn't hear it, he was sick of the lies, especially from this frog, "Whatever, you enjoyed it!"

France's sighed in exasperation, "Angleterre-"

Arthur raised his voice higher as he began to rant, "You ripped apart my family! We were so happy! Alfred was an adventurous kid, and now he's broken from war! Matthew was so kind and caring, but fighting you and his brother turned him cold! Every memory of my sweet boys is tainted by the image of them clashing bayonets!"

Arthur took a long pause to glare at France before continuing, "You ruined everything."

"Angleterre, please." France began, "Just let me-"

"No!" Arthur interrupted, "I'm not listening to you! I hate you!"

A hurt expression struck the Frenchman's face, "You don't mean that."

Arthur lowered his voice, and spoke through his teeth again, "France, I do not, nor will I ever, regret those words."

Arthur turned and walked away, telling himself he hated the frog and always will.

 _But he couldn't keep his own tears in when he heard France cry._


	3. Révolution

Francis woke up to pain running through his entire body. It felt like someone was reaching inside him and was twisting his insides. He was sweating and couldn't help himself from panting through the heat of what felt like an extreme fever.

Francis looked around his surroundings, and although he couldn't see straight, he did realize that he didn't know where he was. His heart pounded harder in his chest and, despite the pain, discomfort, and disorientation, tried to sit up, but a gentle hand pushed him back down.

"Stay down, France, you are very hurt and very sick. Just go back to sleep, you need all the rest you can get."

"Alright." He mumbled as he let himself sink back into his pillow.

Francis was about to comply when he realized whose voice he had just heard. He opened his eyes again and looked at the figure that was sitting on the edge of his bed. It was his enemy, England. Francis began to panic as he tried to remember how he had gotten there. Not finding answer, he decided that escaping was the best route to go, so he tried to sit up again, but due to being so weak, the Brit had no trouble keeping Francis from going anywhere.

England's voice was surprisingly warm and soothing, "I said to rest, you need it."

"What did you do to me?" Francis asked, his voice as cold as ice. But, before he could hear his answer, pain twisted in his chest, and let out a soft whimper.

England shook his head in disapproval, his voice growing softer and exasperated, "Dammit, France, why don't you ever listen?"

"Why should I list-" More pain, this time, great enough to make him cry out.

"Please, France," England begged, "I'll explain later, just go to sleep, _please_ , you need to sleep."

Was England actually concerned? No, England hated him, and always will. So this had to be some kind of lie.

"Why? So you can-" Francis cut himself off with a pain-filled scream, that shortly turned into a violent coughing fit, in which he could taste blood.

"Dammit, France..." England whispered, as he grabbed a cloth and began to wipe the blood from Francis' mouth, "...You never listen… Stubborn frog."

It was now clear to Francis that whatever happened to him, was not England's fault. So, he tried to breathe deeply, calmed himself, forced his heartbeat to even, and whispered, hoping that it wouldn't cause him too much pain, "What happened?"

"One moment." England said, as he stood and walked out of the room. It wasn't long before the Brit returned with a bowl of water and a clean cloth, "You still awake?"

Francis wanted to say something, but the pain was too great, so he settled on just nodding.

"Well, we all knew that you were having some…" England paused, seemingly to find the right words, "Civil disunity."

England dipped the cloth into the water and began wiping Francis' face. Francis closed his eyes and smiled slightly, the cold water felt so nice on his fevered skin.

The Englishman continued, "But I guess none of us really knew how bad it was until your people captured and publicly executed your king, queen, and many other officials."

Francis opened his eyes again, looking at the Brit in surprise. Out of everything he could have forgotten, he thought he would remember that, "Quoi?"

England sighed and slipped the cold cloth behind Francis' neck, "When I heard about it, I came to check on you, and I found you slaughtered by your own people."

Francis' eyes widened more, but said nothing, leaving the Englishman to continue, "My army, as well as a few other armies, are in France trying to put another monarch on the throne."

Francis narrowed his eyebrows, "I don't want another monarch."

England looked at him sternly, "If you want to survive this, France, then you will take whatever government you can get."

Francis protested, "But I-"

England raised his voice to interrupt him, "To put it bluntly, your people are in anarchy, you're in an unbelievingly amount of pain and are deathly ill because of it, everything in your country is unstable, and it is literally _killing you_."

There was a long silence as Francis tried to process this, but it was hard to concentrate through the pain. Francis' mind began to wonder about England and why he seemed so concerned if he hated him so much. His voice turned cold again, "So, England, why do you suddenly care? I thought you hated me."

England took a long pause until he spoke sorrowfully, "Oh… I did say that didn't I?" He shook his head, "I was angry with no outlet, so I ended up venting it all on you… I didn't mean it."

Although he could have swore that grief was getting to him, Francis did realize that he had some feelings for the stubborn Brit soon after Jeanne's death. But, it wasn't until England took in America when Francis actually fell for him. Because, with America, Francis could see the softer, sweet side of England. But, eventually, things went sour between the two brothers, and when his boss decided to side with America, Francis prayed that England wouldn't hold a grudge.

But, then, came the day when America won, and the day where Francis went to see how his Angleterre doing. Every word the Brit said broke him, and the words ' _I hate you'_ left him in tears.

But, now, even though he said he wouldn't, England was taking those words back, so Francis smiled, "Merci, Angleterre. I don't hate you either."

England's expression saddened as he whispered, "Dammit, you're in so much pain." He took the cold cloth and wiped away happy tears that Francis hadn't realize were falling from his own eyes.

The Englishman's green eyes stared off as if he were thinking, "I may be able to something about that…" He looked back Francis, "Wait here, I'll be back."

Francis rolled his eyes, "I don't think I could go anywhere even if I wanted to."

England raised an eyebrow with an unamused expression, "I wouldn't say that, you can be _very_ stubborn sometimes."

Francis gave the other nation another smile, "I promise I won't go anywhere."

England gave his another suspicious look before leaving the room.

Francis was happy. The man he was in love with did not hate him, and it was a start. Maybe in the future- even if it were centuries from now- they could be happy together. Maybe the wars between them would end for good, their bosses would become simpatical, and maybe, just maybe, he could hold Angleterre's hand, kiss him sweetly on the lips, and say the words: ' _I love you, Arthur.'_ Francis smiled at the image, it was perfect.

Pain twisted in his chest again, and Francis had to bite his lip to keep himself from shouting. The wave of pain died down, and he realized that due to the revolt and anarchy in his country, his days could be numbered.

England walked back in with a cup made of some sort of black stone. Francis narrowed his eyebrows as the Englishman approached his bed, "What is that?"

"Uhh…" England said awkwardly, "I haven't done Black Magic since the dark ages," He looked behind him to make sure the bedroom door was closed, sitting on the edge of the bed, and speaking lowly, "But, I am beginning to use White Magic."

Just the word 'magic' made Francis tense slightly, "What's the difference?"

"Well, Black Magic is what seems to be the stereotype," England began to explain, "You get your power from evil spirits, demons, and alike," England's awkward expression faded a little, "But with White Magic, the spells and curses you cast draw your energy. Since you are not dealing with anyone… Well, _anything_ … It's much cleaner and safer."

Francis just stared at him. Sure, he was in love with England, but sometimes, the man could be scary.

England shrugged with a light hearted smile, "And not going to Hell is always good."

Francis quickly shook his head, "I don't want what's in the cup."

"It's not going to hurt you," England reassured, "It's going to take the pain away, and put you to sleep."

"For how long?" Francis asked, growing more tense.

"Three days. But, it has no side effects."

Francis shook his head faster, "Nope, not drinking it."

"France," England said calmly, "It is White Magic, so there are no side effects, it will not hurt you, and there is no evil spirit tied to it." When Francis didn't respond, England continued, "I even dashed a bit of something to give you a pleasant dream."

Francis eyed the cup and looked back to the Brit, "What kind of pleasant dream?"

England shrugged, "That's for your mind to decide, the potion only makes it pleasant."

Francis was going to turn it down again until he felt another wave of pain, "Alright."

England held it to Francis' lips, and Francis drank the thick liquid cautiously, expecting it to taste horrible. Surprisingly, it tasted very sweet, and since he had a strong sweet-tooth, Francis loved it.

"You know," England began, taking the black cup away, "I thought you would be a lot more trouble."

Whatever was in that potion, it was already working, Francis was beginning to feel tired and the pain was subsiding a little. He had to give the Brit some credit, it was fast-acting.

Francis shrugged, "I really don't mind you taking care of me."

England tilted his head, "Why? You may not hate me, but I am still your enemy."

Francis smiled at him, "An enemy would not care this much." Less pain now, and more tiredness, but he forced himself to stay wake, "How much do you care about me?"

England seemed thrown off by that question, but nevertheless, he answered, "Well, I don't wish you dead."

Francis had never felt so exhausted in his life, the pain was completely gone now, his heartbeat and breathing slowed, and he was no longer thinking straight, "Do you know how much I care about you?" He asked, shutting his eyes.

"How much?"

"I would do anything for you." He answered.

"Really? Will you go to sleep and get some rest? For me?"

Francis smiled and slurred, "Oui, Mon Cher."

Although Francis fell asleep, it wasn't dark for long. Before he knew it, he was in a bright, endless field with a setting sun. He felt a hand slip into his, and when he looked over, he saw Arthur smiling at him.

"I love you, Francis." Arthur said, in happy tone.

"I love you too." Francis replied, feeling at peace.

Together, they walked through the field, smiling and laughing until the sun disappeared in the sky. Then, they lied down in the grass and watched the stars. This was what Francis had been dreaming about for decades, but never before had it been so vivid, it felt so real.

It broke his heart when he woke up.

He actually cried.

 _Because it wasn't true._


	4. In The Trenches

Arthur reached up, grabbed the Frog by the back of his uniform collar and pulled him below the trench wall as a single bullet ripped through the air. The two stood still for a moment as Arthur realized the neither he or his ally were shot. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING?" He yelled in the Frenchman's face.

France gave him a sweet expression, "Aww, you do care!"

Arthur scowled and narrowed his eyes, "Please don't tell me that the only reason you were almost shot in the head was to test my loyalty."

France smiled mischievously, "Okay, I won't."

Arthur only responded with an eye roll, things were so stressful now with this 'Great War', and he didn't have the energy to argue or tease, so he decided just to be quiet. At first, he was glad that their bosses decided to work with each other against Austria and Germany, but now he was beginning to regret it, because Arthur had to deal with France all the time.

In retrospect, it wasn't all that bad. True, France was extremely annoying, and he did that on purpose, but it was innocent. If anything, perhaps it was to keep Arthur's mind from worrying about the war, and trying to stay light hearted. After all, if the Frog really wanted to mess with Arthur's mind, he would comment on the trenchfoot, the sound of gunfire, or the smell of blood, and not how his hair was too 'punk-like'... That was just being playful.

And if Arthur was honest with himself, he was glad to have France with him. Sure, he got along with Canada much easier, but working with a past colony was always depressing, because to him, they were all still kids, and kids shouldn't be fighting in a world war. France would understand that. France always understood. Past enemies or not, the two had spent nearly their whole history together, and knew each other like the back of their hands. So, Arthur knew that France was making an effort to cheer him up. He was teasing playfully, and it was working… Even if Arthur refused to admit it.

Arthur looked at the Frenchman as he considered the future. Perhaps this was the turning point in British-French history. Maybe from here on out, their governments could finally get along, and the fighting between them would stop for good. Maybe they could be friends…

Arthur could laugh at that last thought. Allies? Possibly. But never _friends_.

France looked over and raised an eyebrow, "Why are you staring at me?"

Arthur shook his head and looked away, but didn't say anything.

France's expression turned flirty, "See something you like?"

"Oh, yes!" Arthur replied with thick sarcasm, "Because your long hair covered in mud is just so attractive!"

France shrugged, "Hey, whatever floats your boat, mon ami, I won't judge."

Arthur went to snap back, but when he looked back at the Frenchman, the words died on his lips. France was smiling at him, his ocean blue eyes were bright and full of life, and if the clouds weren't blocking the sun, his hair would be shining golden. The expression on his face was peaceful, as if nothing was wrong, and it was actually comforting.

Calm, light hearted, caring, a little childish… Arthur liked this side of France. He felt safe, understood, and like he could drop his composure.

 _Of course, he knew what that meant._

Arthur's eyes widened as he felt his cheeks flush, "Bollocks."

France tilted his head and looked confused at first, seemingly not knowing how to respond until he smiled and settled on teasing, "Wow, you're blushing! Who are you thinking about?"

Arthur looked away to hide his face, "No one."

France laughed lightly, "No. Who? I promise to keep it a secret!"

"Bugger off!" Arthur snapped.

"Fine, doesn't matter," France said smugly, "Everyone already knows."

Arthur gathered his composure quickly, and after feeling his cheeks cool, he looked back at the Frenchman with another eye roll, "Really? Who?"

France didn't miss a beat, "Norway."

Arthur narrowed his thick eyebrows, "What? Why Norway?"

France laughed at Arthur's reaction for a moment until he confessed, "No, no, I just joking." Then he smiled, leaned closer and lowered his voice, "But, I know who you really have a crush on."

Arthur sighed, this game was beginning to get old, "Who is it this time?"

"Why, me, of course."

Arthur's heart stopped in his chest and his voice squeaked, "W-what?"

France continued, "I mean, everybody loves me!"

Arthur could feel his face heat up again, so he looked down at his feet. After a moment, France spoke again, sounding concerned, "Angleterre? Are you alright?"

Arthur nodded quickly, "Yes, I'm fine."

In the corner of his eye, Arthur could see France observing him until, finally, looking up at the dark sky. Arthur kept his eyes on the mud, hoping that France would just drop the conversation and leave for the day so that he could sort things out in his head.

There was a very long pause between them, it seemed like hours of nothing but the eerie wind making noise. But, eventually, France took his eyes off the sky, "Arthur?"

Arthur flinched at his own human name that he hadn't heard in ages. No one had called him that in so long. In fact, if his memory was correct, that last person to call him that was America when he was young.

It took him a few moments, but he gained the courage to pick up his head and meet France in the eyes, "Yes?"

At first, France looked as if he were admiring something, but then his expression changed to sorrow, "Nevermind."

It was an obvious lie. No one called the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland 'Arthur' just to say, 'nevermind'. There had to be an important reason.

"No. What is it?" Arthur asked, "Something is bothering you. And since when do you call me 'Arthur'?"

France took a deep breath, as if gaining courage, "You are so…" He trailed off.

"I am so?" Arthur prompted, hoping to get the frog back on track.

Whatever courage France had built up visually fell away from his face, "Strong. You are very strong."

Another lie, but Arthur could tell that he wasn't getting the original last word to that sentence, so Arthur replied awkwardly, "Oh...Thank you?"

"You're welcome." France said, looking disappointed in himself, then he sighed and walked away with his head down.

 _Arthur watched him go, ignoring the way his heart broke when he saw the Frog look so depressed._

* * *

Happy Birthday to my best internet friend, FeliksLukasiewicz00!


	5. What I Would Do For You

Arthur liked to think of Germany as a child. So, when Germany started marching around Europe like he owned the place, Arthur ignored him. The best thing to do when a child starts throwing a temper tantrum is to show no reaction so the child will understand that is not an effective way to receive attention. Of course, Germany was too stubborn, and apparently, Prussia did a poor job of raising him.

Then, Poland was annexed, and Arthur couldn't ignore it anymore… Even though he wanted to. After he got the news, he went into his liquor cabinet and drank himself into a dreamless sleep. This war was going to be hell, and he could feel it.

That wasn't the end of it either. After being annexed, the personification of Poland, Feliks Łukasiewicz, disappeared, as well as many of his citizens. Where they were, Arthur didn't know, but his blood turned cold when the gossip reached him.

Then, Germany invaded France, and was winning. No one could help France in time, it was a losing battle. But, France wasn't going to disappear, not if Arthur had anything to say about it. So, he convinced his boss to rescue the remaining French soldiers at Dunkirk.

The plan had worked, and although broken, defeated, and beaten to hell, France managed to smile, hug Arthur tightly, and through his sobs, say, "Merci, Angleterre, merci!" Over and over again.

It took a long time to happen, but France was finally captured by Germany and disappeared… Just like Poland. Arthur couldn't contain his anger this time. Once he got home, he started throwing things, not caring if they were valuable or not. Not long after, he started drinking and didn't stop. He couldn't remember if the drinking killed him or not. All he remembered was waking up alone, cleaning himself up, sweeping up the broken glass, and carrying on. But, he couldn't just 'carry on'. Between the Blitz, Pearl Harbor, France's capture, and the death camps that Russia found, Arthur was at his breaking point.

Then, the day came to retake France. Arthur looked forward to it. He was aching for some pay-back. It was one of the bloodiest battles Arthur had ever been in, but nothing could stop him, not even the seven bullets his body had collected.

Arthur kicked down the door to the German base, cutting down Nazis as he entered without a second thought. France and Germany were here, he could feel it.

Arthur continued down the corridors. France was probably in the prisons, so he searched for a stairwell that would lead underground. The search was taking too long, and he was growing impatient. But, before he could spill some British profanities to express his frustration, a single gunshot sounded.

Arthur felt the impact of the bullet in his back, but he felt no pain, there was too much adrenaline and determination to. The bullet missed his heart, but not by much.

"Surrender!"

Something in Arthur's mind snapped when he heard Germany's voice, and he began to laugh, "Your army is surrendering, perhaps you should do the same." When he turned to face his enemy, he was surprised to find the German looking uneasy and fearful. Arthur smiled a little bigger as he continued in a sarcastic tone, "Poor, young nation… You look lost."

Germany said nothing, but he looked away in thought. After a few moments, he pushed the hammer of his pistol back up, tossed it to the ground, put up his hands, and fell to his knees, "Fuck this, the Nazis are crazy. I didn't sign up for this."

Arthur pulled out his own pistol and began to load it slowly as he paced over to the German, "Where's your brother, boy?"

Germany kept his head down as he focused his eyes on the floor, "On the eastern front."

Arthur now towered over the German, "Oh, you're doing a very good job cooperating. Keep it up, and I might have a bit of mercy on you."

Germany tensed a little but said nothing. With the gun in his right hand, Arthur reached with his left, grabbed the German by the hair and arched his neck back so Germany was now looking at him in the eyes, "WHERE'S POLAND?" Arthur shouted with a scowl.

Germany closed his eyes tightly, "I-I don't know! My boss won't tell me! I swear!"

Arthur yelled back louder, "LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU, BOY!"

Germany did what he was told as he flinched at the volume of Arthur's voice.

Arthur continued to the most important question, "WHERE'S FRANCE?"

Germany stumbled over his words before finally getting it out, "He-he's in the interrogation room."

"AND WHERE WOULD THAT BE?"

Germany replied quickly, his accent becoming thicker, "Take a left into the next hallway. There's a door that leads to a stairwell on the right. It's on the last level."

Arthur took a long pause as he stared down at the German, "Thank you for your cooperation, boy."

Germany seemed to relax a little at the words, but then immediately tensed again as Arthur took his hand off of his head, grabbed him by the collar, cocked his pistol, and rested the barrel over his heart.

Arthur could understand being forced to do something that you didn't believe in, or believing in something when it was all a lie, but Arthur didn't care about that, he had too much hatred in his veins. His expression of anger deepened, "This is for London."

Arthur pulled the trigger, and Germany made a strange, choking, gasping noise as he slouched in Arthur's grip. Arthur held up the German by his collar and he cocked the gun again, "Look at me, boy." He said through his teeth.

Germany coughed harshly, and weakly picked up his head, blood draining from his mouth. Arthur pressed the barrel of the gun to Germany's forehead. A flash of fear struck the German's eyes as Arthur spoke slowly, "And this is for France."

Blood splattered all over him when he pulled the trigger. Arthur let Germany's body drop to the floor. Arthur stared off blankly. Germany would be back, he was a country, and although losing this war, he would be back in a few hours… Even if Arthur wished otherwise.

Arthur took a deep inhale and a long sigh.

 _Revenge never felt so good._

Adrenaline faded a little, and by the time Arthur had gotten to the lower level, he started feeling pain. But, he walked with his head up and he walked straight. Eventually, he reached the interrogation room and cracked the door open. On the other side of the room was France lying on a metal table, motionless.

Arthur quickly paced over to help the Frenchman. France looked beaten and broken with fresh and dried blood covering his clothes, hair and patches of his skin. His breathing was slow and shallow as he mumbled gibberish in French. It wasn't the worst condition Arthur had seen him in, but his heart still broke at the sight.

Arthur reached out and shook the Frenchman gently, "France?"

France stirred and his slurred speech grew louder, but didn't really respond. Arthur was going to try to wake him again when a small wave of dizziness hit him. The rush of battle was fading, and the eight bullets were taking their toll. If he was going to help France, he would have to do it now.

He shook France harder, "France! Wake up! It's me!"

France groaned in pain, turned his head to him, and narrowed his eyebrows as he cracked open his eyes, "...Angleterre? "

Arthur's heart shattered more at the weakness in the Frenchman's voice, but he nodded and tried to sound calm, "Yes, France. It's England."

France gave a sudden, fearful look, "Oh, God, what are you doing here?"

"Saving your arse." Arthur said with a scowl.

Although France laughed, it turned into a short coughing fit, and it made Arthur want to cry. Sure, he had seen him worse, but in those times, he didn't care nearly as much… Or, perhaps hadn't noticed how much he cared.

After he was done coughing, France looked back at Arthur with a relieved smile, "Of course, why else would you be here? It's not like Germany could actually capture you."

Another wave of dizziness, and this time, Arthur had to hold onto the table to stand upright. Anger and more determination flooded him. He did not come all this way to pass out at the last second.

But, through his emotions, Arthur spoke calmly, "We need to go, France. There is a ship at the beach just for you. It will take you to London, where you will be treated."

France gave a fake, suspicious look, "Treated nicely? With decent food?"

Although running out of strength, Arthur managed to chuckle at France's teasing, "I promise it'll be better than what Germany has been giving you."

"Deal."

With a sigh, Arthur slipped his arm behind France's back and helped him sit up. Although Arthur was as gentle as possible, the Frog still winced through the whole thing. After he was sat up, Arthur moved his head into France's line of sight, "Ready?"

France only nodded, and carefully, Arthur bent down, grabbed France's arm, and with leverage, draped the Frenchman across his shoulders. Arthur began pacing through the building, having to stop now and then to regain his sight and balance, but finally, he made it to the entrance door. He cracked it open and peeked out. He could hear shooting in the far distance, but everyone outside seemed more off-guard, it seemed that this area was secure.

Arthur took a few steps out, only to be knocked down to his knees by another, stronger wave of dizziness.

France chuckled lightly in Arthur's ear as he slid himself off of his shoulders, "Oh, c'mon. I can't be that heavy! I've been in a war prison!"

The dizziness didn't go away this time, the adrenaline was completely washed out of his system by now, and the pain hit him like a brick wall. Everything began to move slower, black spots blocked his peripheral vision, and the volume of the world toned down… In a way, Arthur knew what was happening.

Then, France was suddenly knelt in front of him, with one hand placed on his shoulder, and the other on the side of his face. He wore a worried expression, and his voice seemed to come from far away, "Mon dieu! Arthur! You're bleeding! What happened?"

Arthur swayed a little as he met France in the eyes, "Eight bullets."

Arthur's heartbeat and breathing quickened, and before France could respond, he bowed his head and began to cough up blood into his hand. Suddenly, his body couldn't hold him upright anymore, and he fell to the side, only to be caught and turned up, facing the sky… And France, who was holding him, "Merde, Arthur! Why the hell did you take eight bullets?"

"I needed to get to you," Arthur choked out, "Today may have been our only chance… And I was reckless."

France began to run his fingers through Arthur's hair, "How? You're always so careful."

France may have said something else, but Arthur didn't hear it. The pain was subsiding, and he was growing tired.

 _Perhaps I could shut my eyes for just a few moments..._

Being shaken made Arthur open his eyes again. Something blocked his vision, and when he drifted his eyes over, he realized it was France, who spoke as if he were trying to stay calm, "Stay awake, Arthur."

Arthur's body couldn't function with the bullets, and, although it would take longer, his body would eventually shut down. Arthur knew this, and he knew France did too, so he tried to give a reassuring smile, "It's okay, Francis," He whispered, "You're people are free now… The end of the war isn't far away."

Arthur could tell that Francis tried to smile, but instead, tears rolled down his face, "I know."

Arthur understood the crying. Even though that, just like Germany, Arthur would be back by nightfall, the temporary death always seemed so real.

He wanted to say something to reassure Francis, but his heartbeat suddenly fell out of rhythm, and breathing felt nearly impossible, leaving him desperately gasping for air, which, he was becoming too tired to do.

Arthur's eyelids became too heavy to keep open, but before he closed them, he took one last look at Francis. He was crying and begging him to stay awake, and he was beaten, broken, and sick from torture, but he was free and the war was almost over. Arthur would soon see Francis smiling his warm smile, flashing his ocean blue eyes, and playing with his long, beautiful hair. Francis was torn now, but he would be happy later…

And since that day in the trenches in the Great War… Francis' happiness was what mattered the most.

Arthur wondered if he should tell Francis that he loves him. But, Arthur didn't get to ponder about it for long. His eyes closed, and his body relaxed as he could feel his heart stop in his chest, and his mind slipped into darkness…

Arthur was familiar with it, he had died countless times in battle… But…

 _He had never been happier to die for someone else._


	6. After The Conference

Arthur stood alone, not really sure who or what he was looking for. The conference was over, and nothing got done, as usual. Most nations left, for they were too angry to stay and mingle with others afterwards. Some did stay to catch up with friends, which Arthur tried to do until he realized, again, that most people didn't want to talk to him.

He scanned the room, everyone looked like they hadn't slept in weeks, but that was expected, everyone's economy had tanked after the war. Even America seemed more run down than usual. But, that didn't stop the yank's optimism, in fact, Arthur could hear his voice from across the room… He sounded angry.

Arthur turned to see what was happening. America, Canada and Germany were sitting at a table as Russia stood over them. America and Russia were in an argument, Canada seemed to be unsuccessfully making peace between the two, and Germany was obviously trying to stay out of it. Arthur sighed, grabbed a bottle of beer off of the table, and went over to break this up before a fight started.

By the time Arthur reached them, Russia was pointing at America accusingly, rambling in Russian. America made a comeback, but before Russia could respond, Arthur interrupted, "Hey, Russia, Belarus is looking for you."

The Russian stopped himself short, before he visibly paled, "Thank you." He said, his voice jumping an octave as he turned and paced away.

"Commie-OW!"

America's mumbling turned into a pain-filled exclamation as Canada kicked him under the table, "You need to stop causing fights!"

"But Russia-"

Arthur decided not to listen to the twins bicker as he turned to Germany, "How are you?"

It was a stupid question, really. The Berlin wall was up, he and his people's fighting spirit was gone, he wasn't allowed to see his brother or his friends, all on top of his economy. But, nevertheless, the German smiled tiredly, "Better. You?"

Arthur shrugged, "The best I can be I suppose." He said as he handed over the beer, "I know it's American beer, but…"

Germany's eyes lit up at the beverage, "Danke!" He took the beer gratefully and began to drink it slowly.

Arthur waved his hand dismissively, "You're welcome, Germany." He stated before trying to make conversation, "So, where is you brother?"

The German took the beer away from his lips, "That Russian bastard won't let him come to the conferences."

"You see, this is why I-OW! MATTIE!"

"Enough, Alfred!"

Arthur ignored them again as he kept his attention on Germany, "I'm terribly sorry about that, chap. Although I wouldn't know what that would be like since my bothers and I hate eachother." He joked.

Germany chuckled a little as he brought the bottle back up to his lips. Arthur was about to switch subjects when he was interrupted, "Angleterre!"

Arthur didn't bother to look at the Frenchman, "I'm not in the mood for your teasing right now."

France's voice sounded desperate, "Angleterre, I need to talk to you."

"I'm in the middle of a conversation." Arthur snapped back.

"Please, I need to talk to you privately," Arthur looked over as the Frenchman continued, "Just step outside with me."

"Outside, under the stars? How romantic! Are you guys gonna-OW! WHAT'D I DO THIS TIME?"

"Could you not be a hoser for five seconds?"

Arthur debated whether or not he should go before finally compiling. Truthfully, he didn't have the patience for the Frog, but compared to the awkward conversation with Germany and the North American Twins arguing, it was the better choice.

France lead him through the room and out to a side balcony. When they entered, he saw Scotland, who was smoking his pipe.

"Oh, bonjour, Scotland," France began, "How are you this evening?"

"Tired," Scotland mumbled around the pipe between his lips, "But, well."

France smiled, "Oui, you look better! Hey, I need to talk to your brother alone."

The Scotsman took the pipe out of his mouth and gestured with it, "Mind if I finish this? They won't let me smoke inside anymore."

"I'm sorry, but this is important." France said in an apologetic tone.

Arthur rolled his eyes, he really wanted to get this over with, "I'm sure it won't kill you to smoke in front of the building."

Scotland turned away from France before taking a long inhale off of his pipe and blowing the smoke in Arthur's face, making him cough, "Whatever ye say, Laddie."

Arthur glared at his older brother, who in turn, gave a playful, cooked smile as he put the pipe between his lips. Scotland patted Arthur on the shoulder affectionately as he walked past.

"Merci," France began, "And close the doors behind you please.

The Scot turned and gave them a strange look as he did what he was told and left. Leaving them alone.

Arthur crossed his arms, "Well, what's so important?"

France walked around and faced Arthur, resting his body on the balcony railing, "You know, I planned this conversation in my head a million times, but I can't remember it."

Arthur scowled, "You're telling me that you interrupted my conversation with Germany, and bothered my brother just so you could forget the reason you brought me out here?"

France shook his head, "No, no, I know what I want to say, but I just don't know how."

Arthur shrugged, "Well, just tell me and get it over with."

The Frenchman sighed and took a long pause as he simply stared at him, looking as if he were admiring something. Arthur couldn't take this, his patience was running too thin, "Well? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you are so… Beautiful." France simply stated.

Arthur narrowed his eyes and tried to look for a lie in the Frenchman's face. Without finding one, Arthur shook his head and turned to leave, "You've had too much wine."

Arthur felt France grab his hand. He immediately turned and pulled it away, "What the bloody-"

" _Arthur_."

The sound of his own human name stopped him in mid-sentence, leaving France to continue, "Just listen. We've known each other for a very long time, in fact, I cannot remember a time when you weren't there."

"Yes," Arthur agreed, "We have known each other since childhood. What's the point?"

France ran his fingers through his long hair nervously as he ignored Arthur's question, "And I know I say mean things, but it's just teasing, I don't really mean those words, even if I say that I hate you."

Without a clue where the Frenchman was going with this, Arthur narrowed his eyebrows, "Don't worry, I don't hate you either."

France nodded with a slight smile, "I know."

Arthur rolled his eyes as he raised his voice in frustration, "Then what the hell are you going on about?"

"Arthur?"

"Bloody what?"

"I love you."

Speechless, Arthur tried to get his mind to think, but it wouldn't work, he was in too much disbelief, "...Wh-what did you say?"

France spoke calmly, "I said… I love you, Arthur."

Arthur stared at the Frenchman as he tried to make sense of this, until it became obvious: It was all a joke. He scowled, "That isn't funny!"

Fear crossed France's face, "This isn't a joke, I swear!"

France suddenly reached down and grabbed Arthur's hand. Arthur jumped at the touch, but for some reason, he didn't pull his hand away.

France continued nervously as his cheeks turned pink, "I know it must seem strange, and unexpected, but I love you!"

Arthur tried to search for another lie, but again, he found nothing. France was telling the truth, and Arthur had no idea how to feel about it. But, before he could think about it for long, reality set in.

He took away his hand as his gaze fell to the ground, "For how long?"

"Lost count of the years."

Arthur picked up his head, "I always hoped you would never say that to me, Francis."

Francis tilted his head, "Quoi? I don't think I'm following you."

"Francis," Arthur began, "I… I love you too."

The Frenchman's eyes widened, "Really?"

Arthur nodded, "Since World War One."

There was a long silence until Francis spoke again, "I would say that this is perfect, but you seem sad."

Arthur sighed, "It would never work out."

Francis rolled his eyes, "Why? Because of our history? I thought we've matured since then."

Arthur fought for his composure as he spoke of the curse that plagued everyone in the building, "We are nations, Francis. Love never works out for us."

"Not true." Francis stated, "It worked out for Austria and Hungary."

Arthur shook his head, "They were forced to marry, and yes, eventually, they did fall in love. But, they were heartbroken when they were forcibly taken away from each other."

"Arthur, you can't just-"

Arthur cut him off, "Poland and Lithuania were rumored to be more than friends, but Russia took Lithuania away. The two of them were never the same."

"But-"

Arthur raised his voice, "And must I mention Jeanne?"

Francis stared off for a moment before tears gathered in his eyes, "But, I love you." He whispered.

The reality was crushing. Just another reason why being a country was torture. Arthur had to fight tears of his own as he said, "I love you, too."

Francis' eyes adjusted as the tears streamed down his cheeks, "May I at least give you a small kiss?"

Arthur thought about it for a moment. He really did want that kiss, but despite what he wanted, he shook his head, "It would make it worse."

Francis looked down at his feet, "Oui, you're probably right."

There was another long silence as tears stung Arthur's eyes. He needed to leave, he had too much pride to let anyone see him cry.

"I'm sorry, Francis."

 _Arthur abruptly turned on his heels, and walked through the balcony door, the tears finally running down his face._


	7. A Bad Night

BOOM!

Arthur bolted upright in his bed wide-eyed and gasping for air as he started awake, looking to his window just in time to see a bright flash.

BOOM!

He didn't waste another second. He threw back the covers, got up, and crawled under his bed, protecting his own head and neck with his arms.

It was no mistake, he was being bombed. But, he didn't know by who. Terrorists? No, terrorists took out coffee shops and gas stations, this sounded like what a German plane would drop in WWII… But it did sound different from that. Come to think of it, it sounded… Normal? Almost like he shouldn't be panicking. Something was off. Actually, something was missing.

Pain.

If he was being bombed, he would be in pain. In fact, he was in London, so he would also be coughing up blood and withering on the floor, half-dead in pain. But, if he wasn't being bombed, then what was happening?

Then he heard rain pelting his roof. Slowly, and cautiously, he crawled out from under his bed and walked over to his window as his entire body quivered in fear and panic. He pulled back his curtain to see the rain stream down his window, and a streak of lightning shoot across the sky, followed by another loud crack that made his body jump involuntarily. Arthur put the curtain back in its place and turned around as he wrapped his arms around his sides, as if to give himself some comfort.

"It's just a storm, Arthur," He said to himself, "Just lay back down and go to sleep. It's just a storm."

Arthur laid back down in bed and took a quivering sigh in an attempt to calm himself. Unfortunately, it didn't work. He still flinched at every crack of thunder, and he couldn't stop himself from shaking. He knew he wasn't being bombed, but flashbacks of past bombings came to him. So far into the past, that he swore he heard cannon fire and muskets instead of thunder. It didn't end there either. He could feel the cold of the French winter in the Hundred Years' War, see America's usually merciful expression full of anger in his revolution, and smell the blood in the trenches of WWI.

"It's all in the past…" Arthur whispered, trying not to cry, "Go to sleep, it's just a storm… It's just a storm… It's just a storm… It's just a storm…"

"What's the matter, Arthur?"

Arthur sat upright again, his heart pounding faster than it already was. If front of him, he saw Flying Mint Bunny, one of his life-long friends. The feathered rabbit floated down into his lap with a worried expression. Arthur ran his fingers through her soft fur, which did offer some comfort. "I'm okay, Minty," He lied, "The past is just haunting me."

The bunny looked thoughtful as she hummed in thought, "Why don't you concentrate on the rain? You always say that the 'pitter-patter' of rain calms you."

Arthur took in a sharp breath to keep himself from crying, "It's not that simple."

The rabbit was silent for a moment, "How about you go watch some tellie? To distract yourself."

Arthur said nothing as he shook his head and laid back down. Due to the long life-span, and many other qualities that they shared, Arthur always associated himself with magical creatures rather than humans, but sometimes, not even his magical friends understood him, and that made him feel even more lonely than he already was. No one else in all of England was like him. No one else could remember everyday in history since the country of England was created. Every country could understand. But, every country hated him, so it didn't matter. He was alone. Always was, always will be.

Then, unexpectedly, the doorbell rang.

Arthur looked to his furry friend, "You heard that too, right?"

The rabbit nodded as she floated off the bed and started towards the door with Arthur close behind her. Arthur carefully descended the stairs with shaking legs and slowly walked to the front door, peeking through the peephole. On the other side, was France.

"It's France." Arthur notified his friend.

Flying Mint Bunny replied in a confused tone, "What is he doing here?"

"I don't know," Arthur said as he turned, "But, could we have some privacy?"

The bunny nodded again, "Yes. I'll send Pixie to check on you in the morning."

"Thank you."

With that, the rabbit disappeared and Arthur turned back to the door, taking a deep breath to gather his nerves the best he could before opening it. France looked at the ground and didn't seem to notice that Arthur had opened the door. He was in nothing but a t-shirt, a pair of sweats, and slip-on sneakers and he was soaking wet from the rain that poured on him.

"Hello, France." Arthur finally said after a long silence, prompting the Frenchman to speak.

France finally looked up and met Arthur in the eyes, "I don't know why I'm here."

Arthur narrowed his eyebrows at him, "Are you drunk?"

"I needed to get away," France said with a far off look, "And I sort of ended up here."

Arthur glanced away, trying to think of a way to respond, "That doesn't answer my question." France didn't answer, he just kept staring off, as if his mind was somewhere else. Arthur tried to get his attention, "France?" Nothing. Arthur raised his voice, "Francis!"

Francis' eyes snapped back to Arthur's, "I don't know why I'm here."

Arthur nodded awkwardly, "I know, you already said that."

"Sorry." Francis said, expressionlessly.

"Are you drunk?" Arthur questioned again.

Francis shook his head, "Non, I'm not drunk."

"Do you know where you are?"

Francis thought for a moment, "...Non."

More anxiety built on the panic that was already in Arthur's chest. He really didn't need this. He rested his head on the door frame and took a few breaths to keep from going into a panic attack. After a moment, he looked back to the Frenchman, "Do you know who I am?"

Francis paused just long enough to make Arthur fear the worst, "You're England."

Arthur nodded, "So, where do you think you are?"

"The UK?"

Another crack of thunder, but Arthur pretended that it didn't effect him, "Yes, Francis. Now, can tell me why you're here?"

Francis began to repeat himself again, "I needed to get away-"

Arthur interrupted, "Get away from what?"

Whatever trance Francis was in, it seemed to be dissipating. His emotionless expression turned pensive, "The memories."

"Why did you come here of all places?" Arthur said in frustration, "Whatever memory is haunting you, there's a good ninety percent chance that it's a war against me!"

Francis shook his head and shrugged as more life came to his eyes, "I don't know-I… I don't know." He was silent for a long moment, but Arthur gave him the chance to continue, "I… I would bother Germany, but he so young, he wouldn't understand. Italy is always so happy, I hate to bring him down, and I hate worrying Spain and Prussia… I didn't know where to go, but I couldn't be alone…"

Francis was soaked to the bone and now on the verge of crying, and it broke Arthur's heart. This was the man he loved, and he was alone and lost, but Arthur didn't know what to do. His first impulse would be to try to lighten the mood with some teasing, but now didn't wasn't the time for that.

"Can I stay here until morning?" Francis asked, looking a bit embarrassed.

Arthur went to answer, but there was another flash of lightning followed by a crash of thunder, and this time, Arthur couldn't stop his body from flinching.

Francis gave him a look of confusion, "If this is a bad time-"

Arthur didn't let Francis finish, "I'm fine," He said quickly, "Come in."

Arthur stepped out of the way as Francis came in, closing and locking the door as he did. Once in, Francis looked down at himself with an awkward smile, "You wouldn't have a towel that I can borrow would you?"

"Yes, wait here." Arthur ordered, turning away.

"And some clothes?" Francis added.

Arthur didn't respond as he walked into the other room and ascended the stairs. Once out of view, Arthur tried to get as much panic out of his system as possible, letting his body shake in fear, and even allowing a few whines out. He went into his hall closet and grabbed a towel and a lightweight suitcase that was already full. When he got back down the stairs, he leaned against the wall and took a few slow, deep breaths the regain his composure as much as he could, wondering why in the world Francis had to stop by on a night like tonight.

"Just get him into some dry clothes and send him to bed," Arthur mumbled to himself, "Then you don't have to pretend like you have mental strength."

 _Oh, god, what about tomorrow morning? There's no way I can keep this up for that long._

Arthur decided not to think about it. He just took another deep breath and walked into the other room with the towel and suitcase in hand.

Francis gave a puzzled look as he eyed the suitcase, "Kicking me out already?"

Arthur handed the items over, hoping to god that Francis wouldn't notice his hands shaking, "You left this at the hotel last week when everyone was here for a World Conference."

"That's convenient." Francis shrugged as he dried his hair.

"Don't walk on the carpet until you're dry," Arthur ordered, "I'll let you get changed."

"Yes, mum." Francis said with a smile. As usual, he was trying to lighten the mood with teasing, and it worked, even if Arthur forced himself to scowl.

The small relief from the teasing didn't last long. By the time Arthur had sat down at his kitchen table, he was so depressed that he just laid his head down on the cold wood and closed his eyes, his body still quivering.

"Are you alright?"

Arthur took a deep breath as he sat up in his chair, forcing his body to calm, and covering himself up with an irritated expression, "Well, you did wake me up at two o'clock in the morning."

Francis' look of concern changed to guilt, "I'm sorry, I-... I'm sorry."

Remembering how lost Francis was, Arthur spoke apologetically, "It's alright, I'm just tired. I didn't mean to snap at you."

Francis didn't respond and started to get that far-off look again, his usually bright eyes dulled with pain and regret. Arthur suddenly noticed how tired he looked… How _old_ he looked… Francis was only physically twenty-six, but the look in his eyes showed the centuries he had lived. Arthur had seen it a few times in other countries, even in past colonies. It was always a weird and scary realization. To see the optimism in America drain completely, and Canada's gentle voice sound hopeless… Arthur knew he got like that sometimes, but he was good at hiding it. The only person in the world he couldn't fool was Scotland. His oldest brother always seemed to know when his pride was fake. The Scot would grow sympathetic, even in the heat of an argument. Of course, all that false pride was due to all the countless wars and battles he had fought, and…

Arthur couldn't let his mind wander like that. He had to keep his composure somehow. With a sigh, he stood from his chair, which seemed to break Francis from his trance, "Well, how about you go get some rest? You must be tired from your trip."

Francis nodded, "Oui, I'll just sleep on the couch." Although it was a statement, it sounded like a question.

Feeling guilty, Arthur shook his head, "Take my bed, you've had a rough night."

"Oh, I can't-"

Arthur cut him off, "Just take my bed."

Francis looked at him, as if debating whether or not he should argue, before sighing in defeat, "Last door on the right?"

Arthur started towards his living room, "Yes, goodnight."

The Frog smiled gently, "Bonne nuit."

Arthur grabbed his handmade quilt and laid on the couch. His composure was dropped, and he couldn't stop his fearful shaking. He tried desperately to sleep, but the thunder and lightning was worse than before, or at least it felt like it. It was only moments until memories came rushing at him. He could almost feel himself rock as his ship tried to scale a huge wave in the middle of the Atlantic. He could remember flying through the air and falling into the cold ocean… He never learned how to swim, and what a cold, lonely death drowning is… It couldn't have been worse than what he did to Spain in their pirating years. Death is never a pleasant experience, and the Spaniard begged of his life when Arthur held his blade to his neck. He still slit the fellow nation's throat, and liked the taste of his blood on his lips…

All the regret over the centuries. There wasn't a way out of it. All his future was going to be filled with new mistakes, he learned that lesson in WWII. Even when he thought he was mature, he still let the hate and vengeance take over him, and he put a bullet in Germany's head.

Arthur didn't understand. America and Canada, his prodigal past colonies. So strong and fierce, hell, they're unbeatable when they work together. But, even with all that power, the twins are so merciful, so forgiving. Arthur didn't know where his Sweet Boys learned it from, because it certainly wasn't from him.

 _He was a monster._

Arthur choked back on a sob when that thought crossed his mind. The tears finally started falling as he curled his legs up to his chest, keeping his crying soft. It got worse from there. He realized, yet again, that everyone hate him, and will eventually, leave him. God knows that Scotland has threatened his independence. He'll leave. Along with everyone else… How cold and lonely his life is…

Arthur's thoughts were interrupted when he felt a hand on his shoulder, making him jump in surprise. It was Francis, who wore a sad, understanding expression. Arthur propped himself up on his arm, wiping tears away as he tried to find a way to cover himself, "Oh, uh… Thank you for waking me, I was in the middle of a nightmare."

Francis gave a sad smile, "You're not okay, are you?"

The little bit of composure that Arthur had built in the last few seconds shattered into a million pieces, and he began to cry harder than he had in a long time. Silently, Francis sat in the opposite corner of the couch, reached over, and guided Arthur to him. Arthur laid on Francis' chest and cried into his shirt as he felt Francis' wrap one arm around him, and begin to run his fingers through his messy hair.

Francis began to hum, and Arthur couldn't remember where he heard the tune. It was only minutes later when he realized that it was the same song that Francis used to hum during their time under Rome. When their lives were simpler.

The humming actually calmed him, and his sobs became soft crying. That was until Francis' voice began to break and Arthur felt tears soak into his hair. His heart broke. He had seen Francis cry out of panic before, but there were only three times he had seen the Frenchman cry in sadness: Jeanne's burning, giving up Canada as a colony, and when Arthur said the words 'I hate you' in true honesty.

"I'm sorry! Oh, god, I'm sorry!" At first, Arthur was unsure if he was apologizing out of sympathy or guilt before concluding that it was both.

"It's okay," Francis choked out, "I'm sorry too."

"I love you, Francis!"

Arthur felt a kiss on the top of his head, "Je t'aime aussi, mon cher Arthur." Francis broke down after that, which made Arthur cry harder.

 _Arthur cried until his stomach hurt, and eventually, cried himself to sleep._


	8. Worth It

Arthur didn't want his dreamless sleep to end, but it did. Despite the depressing night, he actually slept peacefully. In fact, it had been the first night in a very long time that wasn't filled with nightmares or insomnia.

Arthur reluctantly opened his eyes to find himself still laying on Francis' chest. The Frenchman was still fast asleep, breathing slowly and deeply. In the years that Arthur had known him, he had seen Francis sleep before, but, even in their young years, he had never looked more at peace.

Actually, that wasn't true. There was the time during the French Revolution where he did look more peaceful. It was strange to think, considering that Arthur had found the poor Frenchman dead in a pool of his own blood, slaughtered by his own people, but it was true. Like all nations, he had come back, but, just like all unstable nations, he was in extreme pain. Arthur figured that if Francis was to die, he deserved to be in a happy state of mind when he did. So, he made a potion to subside his pain, put him to sleep, and give him a pleasant dream. For three days, Francis slurred and smiled peacefully in his sleep as Arthur tried desperately to bring down the poor man's fever…

Although he wasn't that peaceful, it was nice to know that Francis wasn't in any distress, despite the night before. Arthur closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on Francis' heartbeat, hoping that it would put him back to sleep.

It didn't work. It seemed that he was up for the day. Arthur carefully pushed himself off of the couch, trying his best not to disturb Francis. The Frog didn't move, and Arthur wasn't surprised, Francis had always been a heavy sleeper. After his success, Arthur watched the Frenchman as he pondered.

His mind was never far away from the night on the balcony. Arthur had fallen in love with Francis, and still kept it to himself for decades, and since then, Arthur had been frustrated and depressed knowing it would never work out, and it got even worse when Francis said that he returned the love.

Arthur was sick of it.

Being a country was agonizing in so many different ways. Dying only to come back in a few hours, living for centuries, the inability to have a family and have biological children… The list goes on and on… But what if he could make it all easier? Even temporarily? Staying with Francis and actually being a couple would make it easier. They would eventually be ripped away from each other, but would it still be worth that pain?

Arthur sighed, and figured that he would think about this further over a cup of tea.

But, before he left, he bent down to Francis and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead as he inhaled deeply, breathing in the sweet, Iris scent of his hair. Then, he took the blanket and draped onto the sleeping Frenchman. He took another fond look at him before heading into his kitchen.

* * *

When Francis woke up, he didn't know where he was at first. He sat up quickly to find himself in Arthur's living room… Then he remembered last night… Well, part of it anyway. He remembered that horrible memories had been plaguing him yesterday, and that he went out for a walk to clear his head, but it didn't work… Then he was on Arthur's porch. There were a few blank spots in the conversation he had at the front door, but afterwards it was almost as clear as day. Arthur had let him in, gave him a suitcase that he had left at a World Conference, he got into some dry clothes, and went to bed, but since Arthur had been acting a bit strange he went down to check on him and… They comforted each other to sleep.

Francis but his head in his hands, _What a bad idea that was_ , he thought. Just when they were getting used to pretending that they aren't in love with each other, _that_ had to happen. Francis sighed, trying to figure out what to do now.

That's when he heard giggling.

Narrowing his eyebrows, Francis got up and followed the soft laughing to the kitchen and stopped in the doorway. Arthur was over by the sink, holding a cloth in his hand as he playfully swatted at the empty air in front of him. Francis watched in silence as the Englishman suddenly dodged something invisible, only to swat again with his cloth. He did this all while laughing quietly, seemingly not noticing that Francis was standing there.

Suddenly, Arthur moved back and his face twisted in mild pain as he put his free hand to his nose and glared at the empty space in front of him, "Ow! That was a little rough!" Then a expression of panic crossed his face as he moved to the open window over the sink, "Hey! Where are you going?" He sighed and turned away as he put the cloth on the counter and looked up at him, "Francis!" He said in surprise, "I didn't know you were up."

"Oh, uhh…" Francis trailed off for a moment, "Who were you talking to?"

"Pixie," Arthur answered, "No wonder she flew off, she's kind of scared of you."

Francis never really believed in magic or the magical creatures that Arthur saw, but that did peak his curiosity. "Why?"

Arthur chuckled, "She's just shy. Most fairies are."

Francis tilted his head, "Oh… I had no idea…"

There was a long, awkward silence until Arthur clasped his hands together, "So, are you feeling better today?"

"Oui, I am."

Arthur nodded, "Good, would you like something to eat?"

Just the thought of Arthur's cooking made Francis panic a bit, "Non."

Arthur's awkward expression grew exasperated, "How about some toast? I can work a bloody toaster."

"Are you sure?" Francis teased.

Without answering, Arthur walked over and put two slices of bread into the toaster. He leaned against the counter with his arms crossed and stared at the floor in silence for a long moment, "We need to talk."

Francis knew that was coming eventually, so he just nodded, "I figured."

Then, Arthur said the most unexpected thing, ""I think we should go through with this."

"Quoi?"

The toast popped out of the toaster, making both of them jump slightly. Francis sighed and looked back at Arthur, "Are you serious? You can't be!"

"I am, Francis," Arthur began calmly, "I have thought about it, and-"

Francis raised his voice in frustration, "What about what you told me all those years ago? Do you not remember what you told me? About Austria and Hungary? And Lithuania and Poland? You even had the nerve to bring out Jeanne!"

The tone in Arthur's voice grew angry, "I remember exactly what I said! I was a fool then!"

"No! No you weren't!" Francis argued, "You were being realistic!"

"And what was so realistic about what I said?"

It wasn't what he said, it was how he said it. The tone in the Brit's voice was setting Francis into a trap. Francis knew that whatever he said was going to be the basis of Arthur's point, but Francis spoke anyway, "We would eventually be ripped apart! Just as they were! It would be so much pain to bare!"

Arthur's reply was almost a yell, "Well, I figured you were worth it!"

Francis knew that Arthur was going to bring out his point, but he didn't expect that, so much so that he left him speechless. A long moment passed as Francis stared blankly at the Englishman, until he released a breath that he didn't realize he was holding and looking at the ground, waiting for Arthur to speak again.

It took another long moment, but eventually, he sighed, "Bailey."

Confused, Francis looked up, "Huh?"

"Bailey." Arthur repeated, "She was a nurse who tended to me during the Hundred Years' War."

Francis narrowed his eyebrows at the sudden change of subject, "... I'm not following you."

"She wasn't a historical figure like Jeanne was, but she was beautiful."

"I mean no disrespect to Bailey, but I am very confused." Francis said.

Arthur looked away with a light smile, as if he were picturing memories, "She had beautiful red, curly hair that was all tied up in a bun," He chuckled, "But, there was always this loose strand on the right side of her face."

"I'm afraid I don't under-"

Arthur interrupted, seemingly not realizing that Francis had spoken, "She was so sweet, and gentle, and kind… It didn't take me long to fall in love with her…" The happy, peaceful expression that he had faded into nothing but sadness, "... But, one day, she fell ill… I tended to her just as she did for me, I even held her hand as she died."

Francis didn't really know what to say, but after a few seconds, he decided on, "I'm sorry."

Arthur made eye contact as he smiled again, "It was painful, as you know, but… She didn't treat me like a country, but like a person. And we laughed, and joked, and smiled… She was the light in a dark, painful war, and as painful as her death was… I wouldn't trade those laughs, jokes, and smiles for anything." Arthur trailed off and seemed to wait for Francis to respond, but when he was, again, speechless, the Brit continued, "Wasn't your time with Jeanne the same?"

Francis could remember Jeanne's smile and laugh… How passionate she was… Her stubbornness too… How the sun would illuminate her short hair golden, and how the setting sun reflected in her blue eyes… That stolen kiss they had before seating off to her last battle…

Francis smiled at the memories and whispered, "Oui."

"I know that this will end painfully, it always does," Arthur said in an empathetic tone, "But, to me you are worth it." The look of understanding turned into uncertainty as he looked down at the ground, "Am I worth it to you?"

Francis could laugh at himself. He was the country of love, and should have already known this, hell, he had probably already given this advice to someone else. How could he be this blind?

Francis smiled warmly as he reached down and took Arthur's hand, "Yes, my dear Arthur, you are."

"Good," Arthur responded with a chuckle, "Because I don't know what I would have done if yo said otherwise."

Francis looked up at the ceiling and hummed in thought, "Hit me?"

Arthur let out a breath of laughter, "More than that."

"Burn down my house?"

Arthur shugged, "That's a bit overdermatic."

There was a long silence as the two locked eyes. Eventually, Arthur looked down at their hands with a guilty expression, "I'm sorry."

Francis tilited his head, "For what?"

Arthur too a deep sigh before speaking, "For that night on the balcony. That night should have gone like this morning did. We would have been much happier these last few decades if I had taken the time to think-"

Francis interrupted him, "Stop. Don't apologize. It was a long time ago, besides, I didn't really make it any better. Right after a stressful World Conference, Amercia comtantly badgering us to help him in his Cold War, or uneasy ecomomies, I couldn't have picked a worse time."

"So…" Arthur said, shifting his weight, "Is that we're even?"

"Oui."

Arthur nodded, but said nothing, he just dropped his sight to the floor, seemingly in thought. Looking at him, he didn't seem that happy, but Francis had always been good at cheering people up, "Hey." When Arthur looked up, Francis comtinued, "We're in a relationship."

Arthur raised his eyebrows, almost in surpise, "Huh," He smiled, "I guess we are."

"See?" Francis said, gesturing to their hands, "We're already holding hands."

Arthur gasped dramatically, "This is going to fast for me!" He joked as he took a step foward.

Francis took his had away, "Sorry, I didn't know you wanted to go as slow as two akward teenagers at a school dance." He teased.

Arthur just stood there, smiling his crooked smile, looking at Francis as if he were admiring him, then he jst simply leaned in and kissed him. After a moment, Francis kissed back, and he could feel Arthur cup his jaw with his hands. Francis kept it gentle and sweet, letting Arthur know that he had been wanting this for so long, but was cherishing every moment of it.

When they broke away from each other, Arthur slipped his arms around Francis' neck and rested his head on his shoulder. Francis placed another kiss on Arthur's temple, taking the sweet rosey sent of the Brit's hair, and stting his own head on Arthur's shoulder.

They would be ripped apart sooner or later, Francis knew that, and he knew that Arhtur did too. But, they had to enjoy it while it lasted, because, finally, after centruies, it seemed like they could be with each other. They could spend so much time together, talking and laughing. Arthur was close to him, they could walk down the path of life, just so he could make Arthur smile and laugh…

 _After all, Arthur did have a great smile, and a beautiful laugh._

 _The End_

* * *

Note:

Headcanon that a nation's hair smells faitnly of their national flower. This is why it mentions that Francis' hair smells like Irises and Arthur's smells like Roses. This headcanon may be referenced in future stories.


End file.
